Swann Songs (The Boston Uncommon Mysteries Book 4) (22 page)

Deming took another ride on the green monster. “And you believe him? That surprises me, Eja.”

Anika touched her son`s arm. “Wait a minute, Dem. It makes sense. Nadia may have tried twice to eliminate her rival. Second time lucky?”

“It`s worth considering,” he conceded. “I plan to visit Lieutenant Keegan tomorrow and fill him in.”

“Oh good,” I said, “count me in. I have a couple of theories to try out on him.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

EARLY THE NEXT morning, Deming, Cato, and I set off on our grand adventure. The sunny skies and fluffy clouds were a stark contrast to Deming’s thunderous mood. He avoided Cato at the best of times and shuddered at the thought of the snarky spaniel having access to his beloved Porsche Panamera.

“Why did we have to take him?” Deming groused, giving Cato an evil look. “He`ll just cause trouble.”

“Ah, come on. After we speak with Keegan we`re taking a nice ride in the country.”

“What? I have clients, Ms. Kane. What makes you think I can just take off?”

I patted his knee. “I hear you have pull with the boss. Don`t be such a grouch. It`s Saturday, after all. I even packed a picnic lunch for us.”

He was softening, but Swanns didn`t yield easily. “Need I remind you that it`s thirty-five degrees outside? Hardly picnic weather. Do you mind telling me our destination or am I supposed to guess?”

Deming had dressed to impress with a tweed cashmere overcoat topping a charcoal wool suit. Everything was Italian of course, but I focused on his perfect profile and incredibly lush locks instead. No wonder Zarina and every other sentient female found him irresistible. Like it or not, I had married a babe.

“What`s wrong?” he asked. “You`re giving me a funny look.”

I shook my head and came back to earth. “Just admiring the scenery.”

Deming put his arm around me and squeezed. “You`re wearing red again. Not trying to seduce Keegan, are you? I can only protect my interests on so many fronts.”

A flush matching my outfit stained my cheeks. “Your mom bought this for me. She`s got exquisite taste.”

He didn`t move even though the car behind us honked violently. Instead, Deming slipped his hand down the front of my coat and stroked my breast.

“Clothes definitely don`t make the woman. I like what`s inside that outfit.” He flashed the peace sign at the driver behind us and sped across the bridge toward the Cambridge police station.

To my surprise, Phineas Keegan was at his desk, looking very official in a grey three-piece suit. He shook Deming’s hand, nodded to me, and waved us toward the lumpy striped sofa.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Swann? I have nothing more to share unless of course Ms. Kane and your mother have already solved the case.”

I curled my lip at him and remained silent. Even with Deming present, the stark surroundings made Keegan appear more intimidating than usual.

“Actually, Lieutenant, we have something to share with you. It may lead to nothing, but I felt it was my duty to inform you.” Deming, the Swann heir and corporate lawyer, was in the house. He recounted the highlights from last evening`s gathering, his tone icily polite but respectful. Just formal enough to have some bite.

Keegan listened and took notes in a scuffed leather diary that had seen better days. When Deming finished he looked up and nodded.

“This Nadia Pinsky—she sounds like a real nut. Now if she were the victim, it would all make sense. Pregnancy real or imagined is a great motive.”

I leaned forward and pounced. “Has the operating theory of your case changed yet? I mean one killer who accidentally murdered Duff?”

Keegan’s smile was forced, but instead of snapping, he trotted out his avuncular act. “I haven`t had any reason to change my theory yet, Ms. Kane, unless you know something I don`t.”

It was now or never time, and I seldom shrink from my responsibility. Despite the strangled noise that issued from Deming’s throat, I plunged ahead with my own theory.

“Duff was principled and fearless. I found that out from several sources. Maybe she saw or heard something that compromised one of her associates. If so, she would have shared it immediately despite the consequences.”

“What was it?” Keegan asked. “That will clinch things for us.”

It was a reasonable enough question, one I had spent half the night mulling over.

“I think it had something to do with the book. You know,
Worm in the Apple.
People`s lives and careers were threatened by that novel.”

He heaved a gigantic sigh and turned toward Deming. “Anything more specific than that? As I recall that thing has three hundred and eighty pages in it.”

I gave him the best answer I could muster. It wasn`t perfect, but it was better than nothing. “I`m working on it. Remember, I`m writing the true crime version of this. I`ve got a contract, title, and everything.”

This time Keegan lost it. He forgot that I was Mrs. Deming Swann, not just a pesky writer named Eja Kane. His glacial blue eyes froze me out.

“Bully for you. Be sure to let me know how it all ends.” He shook his finger my way. “Need I remind you that two women have been murdered? This is no place for amateurs, Ms. Kane. Butt out!”

Deming rose and helped me escape that dreadful couch. “Very well, Lieutenant. One thing you should know.
Both
of us are working on this. It`s a team effort.”

He matched Keegan with a frosty nod of his own and led me out the door.

After inspecting the Porsche for damages, Deming adjusted his sunglasses and stared out at the traffic. Fortunately, Cato was nestled on his blanket, sporting a look of sublime innocence.

“I meant what I said, you know. From now on we work together on this thing. After all, every famous author has her researcher on board.”

“Really?” My emotions ran the gamut from thrilled to gobsmacked. “What changed your mind?”

His frown rivaled anything emitted by the mighty Zeus. “Keegan. I didn`t like his attitude. He dismissed you and nobody does that to my wife, especially in my presence.”

I ignored the imperiousness of that remark and focused on the positive: Deming loved me. He showed his feelings in unconventional ways and at strange times but so what. His words warmed the cockles of my heart and a few other places too personal to mention.

“Okay then. Adjust the GPS and head south. We`re going to New Bedford today.”

He blinked then followed instructions. “I`m sure there`s a good reason for this trek. Don`t believe I`ve ever been to New Bedford. Never even considered it. Famous for whaling, right? Doesn`t seem like your sort of thing, Ms. Kane.”

“Chalk this up to research, your new hobby. New Bedford is the hometown of two of the main players in this drama, Sorrel Yeagan and Sonia Reyes. I need insights on both of them from people who knew them well.” I saw the resignation in his eyes and pinched his cheek. “I`ve got appointments set up with Sonia’s best friend from high school.”

“What about Sorrel? Don`t you want to plumb the depths of his character too?” Deming’s thinly veiled sarcasm didn`t bother me one bit. I was ready for him.

“Right on target. We`re visiting Sorrel’s Aunt Vesna this afternoon. She`s in her eighties but quite lively according to her niece. Let`s hope she lives up to her name.”

Deming scratched his ear. “And what would that be?”

“Vesna is the Slavic term for messenger. Apropos, would you say?” I squeezed his arm. “It`s really fun doing this together. Thanks.”

His scowl vanished, and sunshine overwhelmed us. Deming’s smile is the eighth wonder of the world. Twinkling hazel eyes and devastating dimples transform him from a dour lawyer into a matinee idol. Despite his advantages, Deming is an introvert, a trait that is often confused with arrogance. Even I believed that for years until we got together. He smiles more readily now, and Anika credits me with the change.

For the next sixty-five miles we listened to jazz on the Panamera`s incredible sound system, speaking only occasionally. I closed my eyes, trying to prepare for the interviews without over-thinking the process. People responded to spontaneity more than stiff prefab questionnaires. Aunt Vesna would be more candid if we all relaxed. Ladies of her generation observed the proprieties and usually expected others to do the same.

When we reached the city limits, Deming tapped my shoulder. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. Keep your windows rolled up and your eyes open. This city has a terrible reputation for crime. If I`d known we were coming here I would have borrowed one of the gardener`s old heaps.”

“Cato will protect your car. He`s a terrific watchdog.”

Deming huffed his disbelief. “That mutt has always hated me. He wouldn`t lift a paw to help if my life depended on it.”

We wended our way through the city, guided by GPS to a neighborhood of neat, older Capes and ranches with large, lovingly tended front yards.

“This looks very nice,” I said as we pulled into the driveway. “Respectable.”

Deming narrowed his eyes and muttered. “You better walk your dog before we go in. He might have an accident.”

I handed him a shopping bag from Beacon Hill Chocolates while I took Cato on a jaunt. Deming was wise enough not to comment on the candy or the store. During his wild period, he established a special candy account that contained the names and addresses of half the debs on the East Coast. They still recalled him fondly at Beacon Hill Chocolates where the old Deming Swann was the stuff of legend.

When I returned, my husband was charming a lady who had to be Aunt Vesna. Everything about her confronted my stereotypes. I`d expected a stocky aproned woman of strong peasant stock possibly wearing a babushka. Aunt Vesna was nothing like that. She was tall, willowy even, with a stylish pixie cut and tasteful makeup. No apron in sight let alone a babushka. Vesna stared at me with bright blue eyes that missed very little.

“Mrs. Swann? Please come in. I was just getting to know your handsome husband.”

I took the coward`s way out. Instead of introducing myself as Eja Kane, I chose the better part of valor and good manners. After all, being called Mrs. Swann was a perfectly acceptable alternative.

“Thank you for seeing us,” I said. “Sorrel thinks you know everything about him.”

Vesna laughed. “I very much doubt that. Does any one of us know everything about our loved ones?”

She motioned toward her living room and led the way. Once again my assumptions were wrong. I had envisioned a room stuffed with drab Victorian furniture, but Vesna favored sleek leather sofas in butter yellow and bright splashes of abstract art. Not an antimacassar in sight.

“Sit. Please. I have tea or something stronger if you prefer.” Her eyes met Deming’s. “Those truffles are such a treat. Sorrel brings me some each Christmas, but I am greedy. Never enough.”

Deming leaned back against the cushions and grinned. “Sounds like a good nephew. You must be very proud of him.”

Vesna nodded as she poured our tea. “Sorrel grew up in this house, you know. My sister and I raised him from an infant. Never a day`s worry from that boy. He lost his dad when he was a tyke, so Sor became the man of the house. Took the job very seriously. Still does.”

I tried to picture sober, dependable Sorrel Yeagan as a toddler, but the image wouldn`t come. It was easier to visualize a pint-sized Sorrel in a three-piece suit with briefcase.

“He took care of Sonia too,” I said. “Did you know her as well?”

For an instant Vesna faltered, causing tea to spill on the tray. “I`m so clumsy,” she said. “Forgive me, children. One of the perils of age.”

Deming leapt up and steadied her arm. “No problem. Let me help you.” He dabbed a napkin on the tea stains and handed each of us our cups.

Although Vesna painted a smile on her lips, her eyes looked troubled. “I owe you an answer, Eja, but it`s complicated. Sonia Reyes—God rest her soul—changed things for all of us. Sor was close to her father, you see. Raul was his mentor and surrogate big brother. When he and Reina died—that`s Sonia’s mother—Sor stepped in. Became her guardian and devoted his life to her.” Vesna sipped her tea. “After that things were never the same.”

“I knew Sonia only slightly,” I said. “She was very lovely. Ambitious too.”

Vesna shivered as spots of color stained her cheeks. “My own mother had an expression, `Beauty is as beauty does. ` Old-fashioned, I know, but to the point. Yes, Sonia was beautiful, but I always felt that something was missing.”

Deming went to the fireplace and stoked the logs. “Missing?”

“Her heart. That girl had no heart. Everything had to go her way, or she flared up. Threw tantrums, the whole thing. I confess that she frightened me at times.”

I tried to evaluate Vesna`s comments as objectively as possible. Competition between two women was nothing new, especially when a man was involved. Sonia knew how to wield power and wasn`t afraid to leverage her beauty. She had treated Sorrel more like a servant than a protector, but he didn`t seem to mind.

“He was in love with her, no?” I kept my voice light and conversational.

Vesna folded her hands in her lap. “He wanted to marry her. Would have given her anything, done anything for her. Forgive me for saying this, but Sonia invited passion. Lived for drama. She took everything Sorrel had to give and wanted more.” Vesna dabbed tears with her napkin.

The discussion depleted her, and suddenly Vesna looked her age. I thought of my own dear mother, long since passed, and how much I still resented my father`s newer, sleeker wife. Some wounds never really heal. Had Vesna been on the scene, she could well have clobbered Sonia with that trophy. I understood the feeling.

“I really wanted your memories of Sorrel,” I said. “He figures prominently in my book, of course. What were his hobbies and passions as a boy?”

Vesna considered the question as she opened our gift and offered each of us a truffle. The social ritual restored her composure, and in a moment her spirit resurfaced.